Northern Exposure: McLeod Ganj, Manali, Leh and Srinagar

McLeod Ganj: Tibetan Gov't in Exile 9/19/09 to 9/22/09
(Speaking of anomalies) At an elevation of over 5300 feet, McLeod Ganj's much cooler temperatures and location amongst the foothills of the Himalayas (they look more like mountains to me, but I guess compared to the real deal in Leh, foothills will suffice) would be enough to dispel the misconceptions of India as a sweltering hot, flat wasteland . Moreover, the small village of mostly Tibetan refugees was perpetually cloaked in a white mist of Himalayan clouds almost intentionally isolating the small village from the rest of India. It is here that the Dalai Lama resides and continues his governance /guidance over the Buddhist government in exile. Indian faces and accents were replaced by distinctly East Asian features and tongue. In fact, the only (native) Indians I saw here were, like myself, tourists who had come to this quaint village in the foothills to experience yet another dimension of India. There was also a large contingent of ex-pat volunteers here- in some way contributing to the many NGOs serving the refugee community. I had a fleeting desire to stay myself, but for the selfish urge to keep exploring while I can. I have a feeling if things don't work out state-side, I might find myself back in McLeod Ganj to rack up some Karma points (tangent: don't ask how the village got it's obviously British-influenced moniker...I honestly don't know, nor does it seem of great import in lieu of the plight of the Tibetans residing here). The temple and housing complexes of the Dalai Lama themselves aren't overly extravagant, though I wouldn't expect them to be considering the simplicity of the lives lead by the inhabiting monks. It's rare that a tourist gets a chance to see the Lama in his natural (albeit displaced) habitat and I was not the exception; though I did take the opportunity to spin a few prayer wheels at his holiness' abode. McLeod Ganj was noticeably slower, and completely different than anywhere else I'd been in India...a true break from my own preconceptions.

Manali: Gateway to the North and The Motorcycle Dilemma 9/23/09 to 9/26/09

After McGanj, I headed to Manali-a largely tourist (domestic and foreign) town further up in the foothills and the jumping off point for the overland route to Leh in the Himalayas. Nothing really exciting happened for me here, especially due to my being under the weather for most of the time. For a brief moment however (less than 24 hours) I owned a 1998, 350cc Royal Enfield motorcycle (pictured) that I purchased for around $750. I struggled with the decision for a few days before finally convincing myself to partake in this once in a lifetime opportunity. Royal Enfields were imported to India by the British and since their departure, the bikes have been manufactured domestically using the same specs as the mid-40's model (with minor upgrades, of course). I had purchased a luggage rack and 2 jerrycans for extra fuel and was ready to embark on what could've been the most memorable experience of my life. It seems some other force was acting on my behalf, as not 30 minutes after purchasing my first motorcycle, I met a local mountaineer who climbs the mountains surrounding Leh in the summer. Upon hearing that I was planning the moto trip to Leh the following day, he strongly urged that I reconsider. He explained the passes were very difficult to navigate this time of year, and that snow had recently fallen on said passes the previous week. That evening, at dinner, my waiter echoed the mountaineer's concern and added that a friend of his who had just returned via moto said the road was in bad condition. Heartbroken by what I had heard, I was forced to re-evaluate the situation. Ultimately my being alone, coupled with the suggestion by many locals that the weather could turn at any moment this time of year, and the fact that driving, (as opposed to train or air travel) will add many days to my already tight schedule, quashed my cycling dreams. Fortunately I was able to re-sell the bike to the same vendor the next day, loosing only $50 in the deal. Though most likely a "once in a lifetime" opp, I decided it best to continue my journey through India via the much cheaper and reliable train and bus systems....although I certainly wouldn't rule out a better planned moto trip through the Himalayas in the future.

Leh: The Death Road 9/27/09 to 9/30/09
With my motorcycle woes sorted out, I booked what would become a harrowing bus ride to Leh in the state of Ladakh. Leh, at 10,500 ft., is accessible overland via a rocky, dusty, hair-pinned "road" that snakes through multiple high-altitude passes, the last being the 2nd highest motorable pass in the world at 15,984 ft. Crammed in with 7 others in a "bus" (think brown VW bus, if not smaller) with no suspension and a maniac driver kept me on edge for most of the 18 hour journey. Though the motorcycle would've no doubt taken longer to navigate, I am certain that my chances of falling off one of the many Himalayan peaks would've been reduced. It was a trip that will undoubtedly be remembered for the rest of my life, but one that I would never want to do again (and one that would directly influence my near-future travels). As expected, Leh was scenic and very quiet. Nestled in a valley surrounded by the Himalayas, the small town is a mix of Tibetan refugees, Kashmiri Muslims, Indian honeymooners and the occasional backpacker. As with most places in the north, the main reason to visit is the scenery and the slower pace of life. Not to say I didn't enjoy my time to relax, but I was ready to get back to the "real" India. Oddly enough, I actually wanted to be amongst the car horns, dust, cows, touts I become accustomed to in Delhi and Rajasthan. I wanted to feel the pulse of India again. But that would have to wait..a bit. I had purchased a ticket from Air India to fly back to Delhi but, of course, a strike would halt all Air India flights leaving Leh. With no other flights available for at least a week, and my refusal to relive the horrors of a bus ride back to Manali, I decided to head west to Srinagar where I could find a flight out in a few days time.

Srinagar: "Moving Through Kashmir" 10/01/09 to 10/03/09

Another winding, yet smoother 16 hour journey by "jeep" found me rolling into Srinagar, complete with Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" blaring in my headphones. My reluctance to come to this city of almost 1 million in the heart of Kashmir would soon be unfounded, though I didn't receive the warmest of welcomes. (If you a nervous about me travelling alone in a foreign country, skip the next paragraph - i.e. Mom)

Srinagar is the capital of the Muslim-dominated Kashmir region in northern India. Though my stay was peaceful, tensions run high in this once tourist (and now-supposedly- terrorist) hot-spot. It seems Pakistan claims this region to be rightfully their own which, at times, lends to the occasional "terrorist" attack in the form of car bombs or attacks on local buses from renegade Pakistanis. Add to this, that most Muslims living in Srinagar wish not to be governed by India or Pakistan, but rather lobby (fight) for an independent Kashmiri nation-state. This activity, albeit dispersed and infrequent, has understandably driven tourists away over the last few decades. I followed all the golden rules of a conscious backpacker travelling in a politically sensitive area: stay away from large crowds, government offices, banks, and claim my citizenship to a neutral, if not sympathetic country to the Islamist cause (my choice: Argentina, of course). Once again, faces and languages changed; Namaste (Hindi for "hello") was replaced by the Arabic "Salam Alaykum", as men donned topi and fez caps (Muslim prayer hats) providing a glimpse of what I imagine life in Pakistan or, to a lesser extent, Afghanistan might be like. Walking down the street I was met with frowning faces and suspicious stares. I've become used to the staring in other parts of India, but usually they're spawned out of curiosity and are always accompanied by a shy smile when I catch the owner's gaze. Unless talking to a vendor or autorickshaw driver, most conversations were one sided (my side if you can believe that) and cold. I certainly wouldn't frame this experience around all Muslims in India. In fact, those I met in Rajasthan were the friendliest, happiest, and most helpful people I've met in India thus far. But the tensions of daily life in this region were palpable; the stares, the defensive posturing in conversation, and the posting of AK-47 toting Indian infantrymen on every street corner. At one point, I counted 12 heavily armed soldiers on one block. The fact that I've been to Kashmir, for better or for worse, intrinsically adds value to my trip. I certainly didn't plan to come here, but the real dangers of my falling off the side of a mountain if I were to take the bus back to Manali from Leh (realistically my only other option) outweighed the very slim chance that I would be the victim of a terrorist attack.

The (once) big draw here are the houseboats strewn across Dal Lake (pictured above), and the multiple Muhgal gardens throughout the city. Be it the sheer number of boats that have crowded the lake or the fact that staying in one turned out to be a hassle, the whole lake houseboat thing was over-rated in my opinion. The gardens weren't much of a thrill either, though I did take the opportunity to play the roll by dressing up as a Muhgal King and strolling through my domain. At 100 Rps, the costume was easily the cheapest and most exciting thing I did in Srinagar.

Goodbye to my friend
To avoid arousing false assumptions by those reading this blog, I've intentionally left out the fact that, since Udaipur, I've continued to travel with my Argentine friend-Juliana. Her travelling alone for the first time (the two other Argentines had left for New Zealand after Jodphur) and my travelling without a plan made it seem natural that we continue onward together. We had a great time together, and though I am naturally the independent-solitary type, I've valued her company these last few weeks and will miss having a travel buddy going forward. Buenos Suerte, Juliana.